


Are You My Mummy? (A Newmann Halloween Fic)

by DamnFineCupOfCoffee



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Costume Party, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, M/M, a bit of smut, but like a classy pg-13 amount of smut, these doctors are gay and married and theres nothing you can do about it, we do not consider Uprising to be canon in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnFineCupOfCoffee/pseuds/DamnFineCupOfCoffee
Summary: Berlin, 2040. The now happily married Dr. Newton Geiszler and Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, respected members of post-kaiju academia, both in their fifties, share a sentimental moment as they prepare for a PPDC reunion Halloween party. Fluff and angst abound. Newt wears eyeliner and an ill-fitting but sufficiently bad ass cape, while Hermann gets choked by his costume.





	Are You My Mummy? (A Newmann Halloween Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> it may be a month late, but here is my Halloween Newmann fic!  
> an acceptable secondary title What Can I Say, Baby, You Read My Mind"  
> would rly appreciate constructive criticism, especially from others in the fandom. pls enjoy!  
> find me on twitter @twinpeaksVHS

Berlin, 2040, fifteen years after the closure of the Breach. The residence of the good Dr. Gottlieb and Dr. Geiszler, now well into their marriage, both incredibly respected members of the world academia, particularly in regard to interdimensional mathematics and xeno-human biology. 

Every five years, the remnants of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps hosted a reunion for the veterans of World War K, the Kaiju Crisis, whatever you happened to call it. This time, the event, a Halloween party, was just down the road from the lofts where Newt and Hermann spent their time together, in between their lecture seminars at various universities across the globe. Everyone was set to be there; it offered a brief getaway from the stress and wear that came from being known as the saviors of the world.

A few particularly bothersome strips of the now coffee-stained fabric sheets found their way round Hermann’s glasses, as he sat, nested, on the edge of the bed, finally finished with his costume. The idea to go dressed as a mummy had been all his own (at least, once Newton had iterated that a costume was _absolutely_ mandatory), but, at the time, he had been unaware of how difficult it’d actually be. 

Only now, an hour before the event was scheduled to begin, was the outfit finally complete, and was just as suffocating as you’d expect. Somehow, with every movement he made, the strands of fabric both came further undone and constricted themselves even tighter around his throat, leaving Hermann little choice but to stay completely still.

But, despite all his discomfort, Hermann persisted. He was very much aware of just how important tonight was for his partner - wait, no, _his husband_. Even after a year of it being official, the word still occasionally escaped Hermann. The two had agreed to keep their surnames even in marriage, so as to avoid any confusion, but they were the complete opposite of a subtle couple. In fact, Newton’s two favorite words were, “his husband”. 

Newt’s costume was definitely more accommodating than Hermann’s, but it presented its own couple of issues. Though the pitch-black Dracula cape with the red velvet lining was sufficiently badass, just as he had hoped, it turned out to be a bit longer than he had anticipated (or, rather, he was not as tall as the costume had anticipated). The ends of the cloak skimmed the tiles of the bathroom floor as he stood in front of the vanity mirror.

The fake blood around his lips was already beginning to crust over and chip off, and he had, so far, become well acquainted with the taste, something only comparable to a kind of soupy plastic. Tonight also marked the first time in over fifteen years that Newt had worn eyeliner, since Hermann had insisted, repeat, _insisted_ , that it was absolutely necessary for the outfit. 

Back before all this, back before the Breach, he had worn it regularly, whenever he wanted to piss off his dad and go out to one of the punk shows in Berlin. He had traded his eyeliner for a doctorate degree after being looked down upon by his professors throughout all of his time at Uni, but look how things had changed. He had helped save the world, been the first human to Drift with an inhuman entity, and now most of his old professors were regular attendees of his seminars. 

Maybe it was those memories of being a shy undergrad just arrived in America, or maybe it was his left eye, still bloodshot from his mind-meld with the kaiju, or maybe it was all the grey that seemed to pepper his hair more and more, recently; whatever the reason, Newt had never felt older than he did right now.

“Hey, babe, are you ready?” Newt called out towards the adjacent room, where Hermann had been left mummifying himself for the past hour. 

“As ready as I will ever be, it seems,” Hermann replied, a bit muzzled but just as posh as ever.

Newt capped his drugstore eyeliner pencil and walked through the doorway, fidgeting with the buttons on his white shirt (more of a blouse than anything, but he couldn’t be convinced otherwise). Hermann’s discomfort immediately caught his eye, as he sat with an impossibly stiff posture, only making the most subtle of movements. His eyes conveyed all that need be said.

“Wow, Hermann,” Newt grinned, as he sat down beside his love and loosened the few sheets that seemed particularly troublesome, “I thought you said you weren’t interested in being choked.”

Hermann rolled his eyes, the only movement he could comfortably make at this point. He tried his damnedest to think of a clever retort, less Newton win this exchange, only for a strand to slip their way over his glasses once again.

“Please help me,” he begged, with a resigned surrender.

Newt smiled and went about his work, fixing back the strands above his eyes with a nearby bobby pin. He had always been the one in charge of Halloween outfits, on the few occasions they had taken part in university festivities. They had worn the same Kirk and Spock outfits for at least three years in a row (who had been dressed as who is a tad bit obvious). 

“Are you my mummy?” Newt grinned, knowing full well that, for once, Hermann had no other option but to sit and bear through all his incessant jokes.

“Please, do not belittle me, Newton, mummies are more than just a cheap Halloween costume, they are an incredible piece of cultural and scientific history. They represent-”

Newt cut off Hermann before he could continue any further, having thought of a much better way to keep his lips occupied. His legs spread missionary across Hermann’s lap, his oversized cape enveloping the two of them. It was the intimacy of the moment that Newt craved, the act of being so close to someone, to be so a part of them. Every kiss, every display of affection, all of it, chasing that level of intimacy they had reached together in the Drift. Hermann, of course, always responded in kind. 

Newt broke free first and rested his forehead upon his husband’s in the only mind-meld they could afford, now that all his Jaegartech had been confiscated. The fake blood painted an incriminating picture on Hermann’s lips. The two men locked eyes, just for an instant; Hermann’s brown eyes and Newt’s green came together and made all sorts of new, wonderful colors. Whenever bored and waxing poetic, Newt would compare their eyes to the various kaiju he studied, all those majestic beasts and their earthen, oceanic tones. He found such an uninterpretable beauty in those creatures, despite all the danger they had brought into his life. His husband was all the uninterpretable beauty he needed, and at least with Hermann, Newt never felt in danger of being devoured whole.

Hermann had aged just as much as any of the PPDC had throughout World War K, and especially during the subsequent global reconstruction. Both he and Newt had been lucky to escape the endless layers of U.N. red-tape and non-disclosure-agreements and make it back to some sort of a normal life. The stress and wear of the past twenty years traced itself through the lines of his face, his eyes seemed to be all the heavier. 

“I love you,” Newt said, barely above a whisper.

This time Hermann was the one to smile. 

“I love you too, Newton,” he said. He registered the time displayed on the nearby clock and realized they had to get going. “I’ve heard that the great Hercules Hansen sent his RSVP for the get-together tonight.”

Newt collected himself and moved to his feet. “God, that fascist is actually leaving Sydney for once? I thought he’d never come back.”

“Be a bit more considerate, love, he gave much of his life for the Defense Corps, not to mention the life of his own child.” 

Newt shrugged, bringing Hermann’s cane over to the edge of the bed and placing it in his hand. He offered a hand, but Hermann made it clear he was fine to stand on his own.

“And do make sure to congratulate Miss Mori on her Nobel Peace Prize,” Hermann continued.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course...” Newt replied, beginning to trail off. 

It was never something he could prepare for, bits and pieces from all those years ago. A cramped public shelter in Shanghai, unintelligible whispers from some other dimension ringing out in the back of his mind, Drifting with a newborn kaiju that had strangled itself to death just moments before. Every so often, Newt found himself back there, or, at least, it all found its way back to him. 

Jaegar pilots went through strenuous psychological training to prevent things like this, chasing memories down rabbit holes left by the melding of your mind with someone else. Newt had Drifted twice, both times unsupervised, both times with a subject far more complex than the human mind; if Hermann hadn’t been there for him in the Boneslums, he would’ve been left in much, _much_ worse shape.

The two began to move towards the door, but not before Newt wrapped his arms around his husband once again. The neural handshake helps to carry the weight of the Drift, to share the toll it takes on your mind. The bond between those involved extends throughout an entire lifetime. Over the past fifteen years, Hermann had been one of the few things that kept Newt grounded, in the same way that Newt had been for him. Their marriage was the only promise that Hermann Gottlieb ever truly believed. 

He held Newt just as tightly as his costume fabric strands held onto him. “I know it’s a difficult time to remember, darling, but try and enjoy tonight. You know you’ve a pile of theoretical xenobiological research papers left to grade before Monday.” 

Newt let out a groan at the idea of having to grade papers again, only to begin laughing halfway through. He looked up at his husband (up being the key word, here), and gave a smile like only he could. Up on the tip of his toes, he stood, and kissed Hermann once again. Only now, so tantalizingly close to his neck, what was left uncovered by the costume, did Newt realize how painful it was to be a vampire, how torturous it was, how badly he wanted to bite down.

“I’ll try my best for you, babe.”

Hermann hesitated. Newton was an easy man to read. “You know, if you’re good, maybe once the party is over, you can show me how much of a vampire you really are. Or, if you would prefer, we don’t even have to wait until the party is over.”

Newt’s grin only grew wider.

“What can I say, babe, you read my mind.”


End file.
